


Technomancy - or, How to Create a World-Wide Conspiracy in 4 Easy Steps

by WerewolvesAreReal



Category: Leverage
Genre: Eliot knows all the secrets, Gen, Hardison is not actually a wizard do not trust the summary, Post-Series, parker - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 22:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12094854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/pseuds/WerewolvesAreReal
Summary: “We don't need to take Lucille either,” says Parker, dipping her bagel in a glass of orange juice. Eliot looks physically pained. “Hardison can fly us there, because he's a wizard.”"What," says Eliot flatly.





	Technomancy - or, How to Create a World-Wide Conspiracy in 4 Easy Steps

Eliot blames Hardison, because of course he does, but in fairness Hardison would have never gotten the idea if not for Parker's comment earlier in the day.

“I don't see why we have to fly places,” Parker says, munching on one of Eliot's all-wheat, honey-laced bagels. His own recipe. “I mean, Hardison could have just taken us down to Texas for that last job, right?”

“Lucille is not meant for Texas, baby, she'll get dirt in her tires. And do you really want to sit in a van with this guy for that long?” Hardison jerks a thumb at Eliot, who glowers. Case in point.

“We don't need to take Lucille either,” says Parker, dipping her bagel in a glass of orange juice. Eliot looks physically pained. “Hardison can fly us there, because he's a wizard.”

\- Sometimes Hardison wishes Sophie and Nate were still around. Just to add a little more sanity to the mix.

“What,” says Eliot flatly.

Parker looks uncertain. “That's a thing wizards do, right? Fly people to places?”

“Parker, while I am _flattered_ that you think I'm amazing enough to be a wizard... why do you think I'm a wizard?”

“Last week you said you were _working magic_ and then that mean couple in Pakistan signed over all their money to us.”'

“I did that with the computer,” Hardison protests.

Parker looks suspicious. “Computer magic?”

“No.”

“Then why are you always playing games with magic stuff?” Parker asks, genuinely confused. “I thought it's because you normally have to hide your powers. Kind of like how Eliot plays those wrestling games he doesn't talk about.”

Eliot sets his jaw and won't look Hardison in the eye.

“...We're going to talk about that later,” Hardison promises gleefully. “But, no. No. Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart.”

Parker steps in front of Hardison and eyes him carefully. Then, bizarrely, she pats his arm. “It's okay,” she whispers loudly. “You _don't have magic.”_ And she gives an exaggerated wink.

Eliot rests his face in his hands.

* * *

 

The mark they're researching is a couple, which is unusual; these days they typically tackle organizations, but Eliot's ribs are still healing up from their _last_ con (an exciting piece of misdirection and confusion that spanned over three countries and a lot of airplane food) so they're tackling a local case today, from just a few cities over.

Mr. and Mrs. Nasato have their darling daughter enrolled in one of the most preparatory schools in the country. (“Didn't know they still _had_ those kinds of places,” Eliot mutters). Which is fine, except that Frank Nasato, a financial advisor, often approaches fellow parents from lower-income brackets and offers to help them invest their money wisely. A way for them to earn a quick profit – for a small fee, of course. From there all evidence points to him deliberately squandering his clients' wealth. It's not illegal – it could be argued away as simple bad luck – but the team's client insists that her daughter had made enemies of little 9-year-old Allesa Nasato, and that the family disdained the lower class, besides.

“So they're bankrupting people so their daughter only goes to school with the _elite,”_ Hardison says. “Man, rich people are crazy.”

They tend to tactfully ignore the millions of dollars hidden between them.

“Their weakness is easy, though,” says Parker. “The daughter.”

“They want her to be special,” Eliot agrees. “You thinking we swoop in, offering to be tutors, teachers - “

“Nah, this place is tight.” Hardison brings up data on the school. “And I mean, _maybe_ if Sophie were here, but could you imagine any of us masquerading in a _preparatory_ school?”

They look at each other.

“...What if we convince the parents she needs tutoring in gymnastics?” Parker suggests. “Or music - “

“Little Alessa Nasato is already doing ice-skating on a _very_ impressive level, she won the state spelling-bee last year, and she's taking private piano lessons. _And_ harp lessons. I don't know, guys, it would be hard to convince them that whatever we're selling for her needs buying.”

“ _Everyone_ wants something,” says Parker. The age-old adage of cons everywhere. “They want their daughter to be special. How do we make that happen?”

It hits Hardison. “Magic.”

Parker looks at him. “I thought that was a secret,” she hisses.

“No, no, just – we convince the Nasatos that their daughter is _magic.”_

“What, and she's going to Hogwarts?” Eliot snorts.

“Something like that.” Hardison warms up to the idea. “What's more _special_ than a daughter with crazy powers? And we'll get them to fork over tons of money for her special tuition, and special tutors, and crazy equipment - “ Hardison's mind was running away at the thought of manufacturing fake magic-school supplies. God, he _had_ to do this con, it would be so _fun._

Eliot's still a bit critical. “What about the kid? We can't do that to her. Imagine being convinced you're _magic_ and then told it's a big lie.”

“Yeah, no, you're right,” Hardison concedes. “ - So we tell the parents we're _testing her potential,_ and they shouldn't get her hopes up yet.”

“We can fine them for the tests, too,” Parker speculates. “And maybe get them to bribe us?”

“And then they'll be humiliated,” Hardison finishes, imagining the big reveal moment – always the most fun part of a con. Eliot glares, and he adds hastily, “But not so humiliated that their daughter's life is ruined.”

Apparently satisfied, Eliot leans back. “Okay,” he says. “ - But you get to make all the magicky props.”

“Dude, don't even _act_ like you were planning to help.”

* * *

 

No one appreciates Hardison's true genius.

“I still don't get why we need the equipment,” Parker says. “Can't Hardison just perform some real magic to trick them?”

\- Okay, _Parker_ appreciates his genius.

“He needs the tech for his magic to work,” says Eliot, apparently resigned to humoring Parker's latest notion.

“Oh! Like a wand.”

“...Yeah.”

Parker nods seriously, carefully slipping the third projector into her pocket. It seems to vanish from sight immediately; if anyone should be accused of being magical, Hardison thinks, it's her.

They wait.

“...Eliot.”

“I'm not wearing it, man.”

“You need to sell the role!”

Eliot grimaces. “If I want to sell the role, and seem like a _reasonable..._ modern magician...” (Eliot looks skyward, like he can't believe the turn his life has taken) “...then I would wear a suit like any normal person.”

“But the robes are traditional!”

“Parker's wearing her robe.”

“There's lots of space to hide stuff,” Parker explains, and somehow reveals -

“Did you steal one of my _laptops?”_

Parker nods happily. Hardison quickly places it back among his behemoth array of screens, and, how the heck -

He realizes too late that Eliot is already leaving Lucille. “The robe,” Hardison calls, and only receives a sharp huff in return. Parker bounces out too, leaving Hardison alone.

He turns on the coms, and waits.

“Are you sure this will even work?” Eliot mutters. Hardison can hear their footsteps – well, actually just Eliot's footsteps – as they make their way to the mark's house. “They're going to call us crazy.”

“This is how they do the reveal in like, _all_ the Harry Potter fanfics,” Hardison assures.

“...You read Harry Potter fanfiction?”

Eliot's voice is full of judgment.

“ _Some_ of us have hobbies that don't involve sharp objects.”

They reach the house quickly, and Eliot knocks on the door. A minute later Hardison hears a creak of wood, a shush of fabric, and fidgets with the volume control for the earpieces. “Mrs. Nasato,” says Eliot, in the bright, warm tone he uses for tricking people, tinged with something like a German accent. “Pleasure to meet you. I'm Dr. Kaube, and I'm here to talk about your daughter. This is my colleague, Dr. Wirner.”

“Doctor...? You're here about Alessa?”

Eliot charms his way in, and Parker – with a bright, somewhat creepy laugh, excuses herself quickly to the bathroom. Hardison hears rustling as Eliot distracts the mark.

“Is your daughter home?”

“No, I'm afraid not, this isn't really - “

“No, that's completely fine. In fact it would be a bit early to involve her. We wouldn't want to get her hopes up if, well,” Eliot sounds apologetic, “ - if she doesn't measure up.”

Parker whispers, “It's set up.”

Now Mrs. Nasato sounds offended. “'Measure up?'”

Eliot avoids the question. “Is your husband home?”

“Yes...”

They collect the pair in the living room – right where Park has hidden the projectors, and explain that little Alessa has signs of _magic,_ and may have a place at their _highly secret magical school -_

“Did Chelsea send you?” Mrs. Nasato huffs. “Magic! Really! We're Christians, you know.”

“Sure, sure,” says Eliot. “Here, just take this letter – this is a very good opportunity...”

Mr. Nasato huffs. “Right. I can't even read this, is this parchment... What a waste of time. Go on, then. You have magic?” His voice is mocking. “Prove it or get out.”

“Sure. You see this box?”

“....Where did that...”

“I'm going to turn it into a kitten,” says Eliot easily.

Hardison cracks his knuckles and grins, then opens a file on his computer.

It's the same sort of projector they used in the White Rabbit job. Complex illusions would be noticed in an instant – the setting is 3-d and real but still a little staticky, a little strange to human perceptions – but the simple box necessary for this job should seem perfectly stable.

“ _Abracajiggy,”_ says Eliot with aggressive sufferance, and Hardison openly cackles while he ends the program.

“Oh my god!” exclaims Mrs. Nasato.

A tiny meow. “You can hold her,” Eliot offers. Hardison hopes the Nasato's don't ask him to change it back – it must have been difficult for even Parker to keep the cat silent in her robes.

“It's _real,”_ Mr. Nasato whispers quietly. “Oh – oh – do you know what this means - “

“I'm afraid this really does have to be kept quiet,” says Eliot, suddenly solemn. “It's necessary that you be informed of your daughter's... potential prospects... but if you tell anyone about this, the govnernment may need to take certain measures...”

The marks both swear themselves to secrecy. “But what do you mean _potential_ prospects?” Mrs. Nasato probes sharply.

“Well,” says Eliot. “See, not everyone with magic is actually _completely_ qualified. Our school is very selective...”

* * *

 

“I'd call that a success,” Hardison says gleefully, checking and re-checking the bank statements on his phone as they enter the brewpup. The Nasatos had practically fallen over themselves to bribe Eliot – that is, to give him 'grants' for his 'wondrous, innovative school' that didn't exist.

“You better hope we don't attract the wrong kind of attention with this,” Eliot warns.

“The wrong kind of - ? Man, what _wrong kind of attention_ can we attract with a magic scam? It's not like magic is real.”

Parker looks tolerantly amused. Eliot crosses his arms and stares at Hardison evenly. It's the same kind of look he gets when he's thinking, 'stupid, innocent civilian' and flashing back to weird days in Syria or China or the _Arctic,_ or something.

“...I mean, of course it's not real,” says Hardison. “Right? Right, Eliot? Right – Eliot, man, why are you walking away, don't play with me - “

* * *

 

Hardison cannot believe he's dating a girl who disrespects World of Warcraft.

“I cannot believe I am dating a girl who disrespects World of Warcraft,” he says.

“I just don't get it,” Parker complains. She's half-draped over him, squinting suspiciously at the screen it might reveal answers to her. Eliot is making _something_ wonderful in the kitchen, but he keeps swearing, so it's probably not going quite as planned. “Why are you stealing people's fake-gold? We have real gold. Or we can steal from the bank. Is it internet-money?”

“It's just fun. Like playing around with locks.”

“Like when I closed myself in a safe and had to get out before I ran out of air?”

“...baby, we should maybe talk about this thing called safety measures...”

He's interrupted by a renewed set of swearing from the kitchen, then, “HARDISON!”

“I didn't do it!” Hardison calls. Eliot lunges into the room a second later, face dark and furious, which does nothing to relay the severity of whatever he's angry about.

“Turn on the news,” Eliot says.

“Do I wanna turn on the news?” Hardison questions, and Eliot snarls wordlessly until Parker plucks up the remote.

“Oh,” she says.

“ ...small town in Oregon. The couple's encounter was caught on a home nanny-camera, and they're claiming that this was an authentic, unstaged visit. Experts have been examining the footage...”

“Oh no,” says Hardison.

“...And so far have not been able to determine any sign that it is faked, although our correspondent John White...”

Hardison takes the remote from Parker and shuts off the news. Then he turns to his computer.

“...Guys,” he says. “People all over the _globe_ are talking about this. I don't understand! No one believes anything they see on the internet!”

“Apparently the Nasato's know some people in Congress who freaked out. Conservative types, I think.”

“ _No one believes politicians,”_ Hardison stresses. “That makes even less sense...”

“Sure, but that means it went public big and fast.”

Parker leans over his shoulder again, eyeing the news reports. “Oh, it says some churches are getting upset... Do you think they might try to burn witches again?” she asks in interest.

“I did not sign up for witch-burnings,” Hardison says. “You know who they'll be after first? Genius black kids in foster care.”

Eliot rolls his eyes like they're being ridiculous, like this is not a serious concern, Eliot, jesus. “Then we speed up the reveal,” he says. “It'll still embarrass the Nasato's, job over. No big deal.”

Except it is a big deal.

Following the video leak, they quickly manage to steal a downtown theatre and set Parker up for a 'magic' show. People recognize her face from the video – that was the point – and the place is crammed when she's set to perform.

Hardison and Eliot don't really have anything to do, so they just watch from the audience. Hardison cheerfully throws out a few heckling comments until a beefy guy next to him starts to look annoyed.

Here's the problem:

Parker is good.

“They think she's real,” Hardison mutters quietly, side-eyeing Eliot. The hitter has a low, unpleasant twist to his mouth which says he would rather be anywhere else than packed in a room with a bunch of magic-believing idiots.

“The point was that someone would realize how the tricks work,” Eliot mutters back. “But it's Parker. _We_ don't even understand how her stuff works.”

Which is a very good point.

Parker somehow seems to be juggling whips of fire. There has to be some explanation for that. Somehow. Hell if Hardison could find it.

He can't even _blame_ the people, really.

Then Parker seems to conjure a kitten – the same kitten as before – and just as quickly closes her hands, probably hiding the kitten up the sleeves of her substantial robes.

“And for my final performance,” Parker begins.

The kitten falls from her sleeve and stumbles over the ground. It meows.

The crowd goes silent. Parker looks exceptionally pleased with herself. “Oh no,” she says robotically, voice very loud. She gives a faux-nervous laugh, a sharp _ha, ha, ha_. “Now you know everything. All my magic is fake! So fake! Completely fake! I am now going to take this very not-magical kitten and flee in shame.”

Hardison and Eliot exchange looks.

They make it to Lucille just ahead of Parker. She looks flushed and proud when she enters the van. “How did I do? Did it seem pretend?”

“Oh, yeah,” Hardison sighs. “I bet no one believed it for a moment...”

* * *

 

The internet swarms even more after Parker's appearance, and some people have even pounced on the fact that her deliberately-blank identity has suddenly (almost magically, they accuse) been filled in with all the relevant details to create a rock-strong alibi – a boring con-woman charged with a few cases of petty theft, someone clearly liable to lie to an innocent public. But the wild internet theories and arguments don't hold water; her 'confession' satisfies any people in denial of magic, and the scorn from the churches disappears too.

“What's really upsetting,” Hardison tells the others later, “Is that I expected them to be much harder to convince. But I never got to use the props. You realize I made dozens of books with actual parchment? I bought cauldrons on etsy. And that poor horse is gonna have a headache for weeks after that horn starts to come off...”

“They still have the letter we gave them,” Eliot says. “You think it'll add to this conspiracy crap?”

“Maybe. No reason people should think it's real, though. Although I wonder if anyone will try cracking the language, or maybe try to say they got their own letters from Salem...”

“Salem?” Eliot asks sharply.

“Salem Institute of Magic. Cool, right? Like the witch-trial place? That gibberish on the letter was a language I made up, you know, like Klingon or Quenya. But if anyone figures out the sounds the letters correspond to, the first word is _Salem...”_

Eliot curses and snatches up his phone. “I've got to make a call,” he says, and leaves before Hardison can ask any questions.

Hardison leans back in his chair and watches the ceiling for a minute. Considers.

...Nah.

“Can you pull a dinosaur from a hat?” Parker asks him, sliding to the floor and propping her chin on her knees.

“Sure, baby,” Hardison says amiably. He pulls up a projector.

Now, _this_ is magic.

 

 

 


End file.
